Detachment
by glitteratiglue
Summary: Darcy doesn't know why she keeps giving in to Loki. She was the one who ended things when they got too close for comfort, so why is she still letting him come to her in the dead of night? Sometimes there are words you just can't say. Rated M. Post-Avengers AU. Loki and Darcy both work for SHIELD.


Written for the Darcy Lewis Smut Week Challenge.

Based on the prompt **mind games** (very tenuously, I might add).

Warning: Feels. I tried so hard to write PWP, I really did, but this damn angsty little plot crept in and wrapped itself around all the sex. So I just let it do its thing.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

* * *

Darcy's quarters in the SHIELD helicarrier are small, but adequate. She sits on the bed and kicks off her shoes, glad to sit down after a long day of meetings. How many fucking cups of coffee do these people drink, anyway? She always forgets how much she hates night shifts. She's exhausted from all the coffee runs and fetching data for the SHIELD scientists. Darcy has half a mind to just go to sleep right here in her clothes.

Unfortunately, she doesn't get the chance.

The hairs stand up on the back of Darcy's neck, and her eyes snap open.

_He's here._

She's locked the door, but when did that ever stop him?

"No," she says as she finds Loki standing in front of her dressing table, that stupid fucking mischievous grin on his face.

Her hand reaches up, slaps his face. He could easily stop her, but he doesn't. He lets her do it once, twice.

Darcy raises her hand to hit him a third time, but finds her wrist caught by his hand.

"Get off me, Loki!" she hisses. "Fuck you." Her voice is shaking, and she's so afraid she's going to start crying like the pathetic little girl she really is.

The façade of the tough, snarky Darcy Lewis always dissolves when she's around him.

This is the man who knows her darkest fears, her secrets she's told only him when their heads are side by side on the pillow.

"Fuck you!" she repeats, her voice stronger this time.

She walks away, turning her back to him, but he presses his body into hers, and she can feel how hard he is.

"You say you don't need this, but your body betrays you," he says into her ear. His voice is a whisper, soft and dangerous as he rubs circles on the small of her back, right in that spot he knows will drive her crazy. "Just give in."

Loki's head dips to her neck, teeth grazing at the edge while his other hand reaches up to cup her breast. He squeezes, and Darcy moans in spite of herself. Seconds later, she finds herself pinned against the wall, his body hard against hers.

His lips crash down on hers, and his tongue is cold as it slides into her mouth. He sucks and bites at her lip while his deft, eager fingers make short work of her clothing.

Darcy pulls at the drawstring of his pants and pulls them down his legs, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of his cock, hard and weeping for her.

She wraps her hand around him and he lets out of a sigh of pleasure, his hips arching into her touch before he gently moves her hand away.

Loki lowers his head and his tongue flattens over her nipple, hot and cold all at once, sending sparks of pleasure down to her toes.

His green eyes flash coal black, and he falls to his knees before her. Darcy's leg is lifted and placed on his shoulder, and before she can even process what's happening he's buried his face between her legs.

He spreads her slick folds with his fingers, and she cries out when they're replaced with his tongue. Darcy feels herself falling as Loki flicks his tongue over her, tracing unknown lines and curves on her sensitive flesh. That delicious feeling in the pit of her stomach tightens. She feels first one, then two, then a third finger plunge into her, twisting to hit that fucking _perfect_ spot.

Darcy comes so intensely that her legs nearly collapse under her, hating that he can still make her feel like this. He looks up at her, a smug expression on his face, and presses a soft kiss to her inner thigh that makes her tremble.

She has no time to recover before Loki kisses her fiercely, allowing her to taste herself on his lips. His cock pushes at her entrance, and with one rough stroke, he fills her.

Darcy cries out at the stretching feeling, and he stills, allowing her to adjust to him for a moment. Seizing her hip, he wraps one leg firmly around his waist so he can thrust into her.

Loki is rough with her, thrusting hard and fast, and Darcy digs her heel into his backside to take him deeper still. His hands mould to the curve of her hips, gripping her so tightly it's painful. Her fingers claw patterns into his back, as if to tattoo her very presence on him.

His fingers reach down to the juncture between her thighs, rubbing circles around her clit until she comes a second time, screaming his name like she always promises herself that she won't.

With a deep, shuddering thrust Loki spills himself inside her, letting out a small gasp. It's almost shockingly intimate, the way he looks at her in the moment of his release. Pure, genuine emotion and feelings for her, and the one time he can't hide himself.

And that's when she realises why they keep doing this.

Why she tortures herself with thoughts of Loki every night when she sleeps. She's seen what could be. The glances, the tender touches that they both don't acknowledge, when they forget themselves.

She feels his body stiffen, and she's suddenly empty. He lets her leg down that he's been holding. When he looks back at her, the mask ihas returned. His face is blank, emotionless even though she can feel his heart pounding where his chest is pressed against hers.

It's enough to shatter her control. Darcy presses her face to the hollow of Loki's neck and sobs. Her fists pummel his chest, trying to push him away. He lets her hit him, wraps an arm about her waist to prevent her from moving away.

"You're magnificent," he says, the green eyes soft as he tips her chin up to force her to look at him. Darcy's fists open, dropping to her sides.

"I mean, _that _was magnificent," he hastily corrects himself, swallowing hard.

He can see her eyes are full of tears, and as his thumbs move to her eyelids to brush them away, it only makes her cry harder.

"You should go," she chokes out, and he complies without a backward glance. Quickly adjusting his clothes, she hears the electronic lock on her door open and shut, and she's alone again.

Stripping off her clothes, she steps into the shower stall and turns on the water, trying to wash away her own shame.

Every time she tells herself she'll be stronger than this. That she won't let emotions get in the way.

That's why she ended whatever twisted fucked-up thing this was in the first place.

Because it's _Loki. _Even though he'd co-operated with SHIELD and was now working for them, she couldn't trust him. He was incapable of having true feelings for someone else.

It had started as meaningless sex, and that she was fine with. He was skilled, he made her laugh, and her work in the organisation left her too busy to have any time for relationships. Somehow, it had turned into long talks, and sometimes, him sleeping over. In the middle of the night, Darcy would often wake to find him pressed against her thigh. He'd make slow, gentle love to her that they'd both pretend hadn't happened in the morning.

She had ended it weeks ago. He'd taken the hint when she told him she needed to sleep and kicked him out of her room one night. In typical Loki fashion, he'd made a joke about needing his beauty sleep to maintain his flawless Asgardian physique. It had seemed easy for him to let go.

Sadly, severing the intense physical connection between the two of them was not so easy. So the sex carried on.

Except now it was just without the talking, the sleeping in each other's arms, and all the other things that made her feel needed.

Darcy can't even feel used, because she's using him just as much.

She scrubs her skin with the loofah until it's pink and raw, trying to scrub every inch of his scent away.

And it works, until she gets into bed. Her fucking _sheets_ still smell like Loki, even after two washes.

Darcy sobs wordlessly until the pillow, tucks her knees up against her chest. Hating herself.

#

Loki adjusts his clothes at the side of the corridor, hoping he doesn't look as dishevelled and sweaty as he must be.

Quickly, he crosses the corridor and enters his room. As the door closes, he backs up against the wall, his body shaking. Buries his face in his hands and cries for all the things he can't say to her.

That he's a freak, incapable of intimacy.

That he left her, instead of comforting her.

That he _loves_ her, and what he can't say with words he says with his body. The only way he can.

He should have seen it coming. Who could want _him? _Let alone a girl like Darcy Lewis.

Awful, wracking sobs wrench themselves from his body, sounding more animal than human.

* * *

I decided to post this sans beta, so please excuse any typos or dodgy fragments.


End file.
